


Live After Dark

by unshakespearean (InimitableLia)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daily Show AU, Jefferson bashing, M/M, for the record Peggy's name is Margarita, get it together people
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:26:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6922021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InimitableLia/pseuds/unshakespearean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After thirty years as the original host of Live After Dark, late-night legend Freddie August announced his retirement, and nobody expected twenty-seven year old Puerto Rican John Laurens to take his place—that is, except for the entire show's crew—but he did. Now, three years later, John is having the time of his life poking fun at George Washington and his administration, but when a routine segment catches the attention of one Secretary Alexander Hamilton, the world might never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live After Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ravenesta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenesta/gifts), [asphodelgrimoire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asphodelgrimoire/gifts).



> This fic is based on the HCs from vicesandvipers/Ravenesta and transaaronburr/asphodelgrimoire unofficially nicknamed the Daily Show AU by The Queen Herself™ (Waverley aka revolutionaryquartet/ipickedupapen). Original post with HCs can be found at http://transaaronburr.tumblr.com/post/141238665692/vicesandvipers-ok-but-late-night-talk-show-host.

It was 6:00 PM, just hours before going live—and John was still arguing with the producer.

“John, you can’t.”

“Why not? It’s _comedy,_ Ryan. _Satire._ Can’t I make fun of politicians if I want?”

“You already do that!” John wasn’t sure which crew member had just said that—probably one of the camera crew—but he didn’t really care.

“Okay, fair enough, but—”

“There are _lines,_ John. There are a few lines that simply cannot be crossed, and calling the President—” Ryan broke off, gulping.

“—George Dadington?” John supplied.

“You can’t do that!” Ryan exclaimed for the five hundredth time.

“Why?” John asked.

“It could be… _misinterpreted._ ”

John took a second to get what Ryan was saying, but when he did, he nearly gagged at the idea. “Seriously? Oh, come on, that’s ridiculous—and completely _disgusting;_ why are you even _thinking_ that?”

“Well, if I jumped to that conclusion, others will,” Ryan finished.

John shook his head. “Bullshit. There’s no way anyone would _—right?_ No one would ever… okay. Fine. I’ll cut it. But don’t blame me, okay? Blame society. And the internet.”

“Will do. Now go eat. No more stomach growling on air.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Ryan, that was years ago!” But Ryan had already left the room, laughing.

John sighed and headed over to the boardroom where some of the crew ate dinner. The incredible smell emanating from the room—specifically, from his seat—told him that once again, Maureen, the head of the art department who had been on the crew for decades, had brought him food.

“Maureen, you spoil me,” John said.

“John, you’ve been saying that to me every night for three years, and I will say the same thing every single time: I did it for Freddie; I’ll do it for you.”

Freddie August, the previous and original host of the show, was a legend in the late-night community. For thirty years, he had insisted that the show be truly live, with a studio audience and no laugh track. “Those bozos at NBC don’t have a trademark on live late-night,” he would say anytime someone mentioned SNL. Some joked that the saying would appear on his grave when the time came. His decision to leave the show shocked the world, but their surprise was nothing to that of when Freddie announced his choice of successor—not a white man in his forties, but twenty-six year old _Puerto Rican_ John Laurens, who had started as an intern on the show as a teen and had slowly climbed up the ranks to being one of the writers. There had been backlash, of course, and many swore to boycott the show if John accepted the role, an idea so widespread that at first, ABC refused to offer John a contract, instead wanting to offer the job to older, whiter Charles Lee. But Freddie was persistent and insistent, as was the crew, whom John considered family after working with them for nearly a decade, and enough fans did support the idea that on September 28th, 2012, he signed the contract, _Live After Dark with Freddie August_ became _Live After Dark with John Laurens,_ and John became the first person of color to host his own late-night show on American television.

John still remembered that day, and the days and weeks and months following. Maureen, the leader of the charge of crewmembers threatening to quit the show if ABC hired Lee, threw John a party when he accepted, and then led another “crewnitiative,” as she called it: to ensure that ABC would allow John to make _Live After Dark_ his own. ABC, now fully aware of what it meant to stand up to Maureen Carl, was far more cooperative than it had been before. Luckily for them, John truly wanted to maintain a good amount of Freddie’s legacy, and only asked for one thing to change: that the background picture, instead of simply being the New York skyline, to change depending on what he was saying, with its default image being a picture of the ocean near his birthplace in Puerto Rico, just after dark. Everything else on set remained the same—the same old desk and chair from the eighties, the sofa on the side, and, most importantly, the stage. No one had expected the new picture to fit with the old set, but somehow it did, and when John set foot on the new set for the first time, he burst into tears.

His first night, he introduced himself to the audience, both sitting in front of him and watching at home. Told them he was “just a simple farmer boy from South Carolina,” paused… and then the screen changed from the show’s logo to an image that would become commonplace on the show: a white screen, with every known synonym for “lie” flashing around the screen in various colors, as well as a guy running around with pants on fire and a bull dropping excrement, all drawn and designed by Maureen, who had laughed for a solid thirty seconds when John presented the idea, as did the audience when the infamous image first appeared.

“Yeah, that’s just not accurate,” John had said amidst their laughs. “If I were, I’d be _talkin’ like this, y’all,_ ” ending the sentence in a thick, over-exaggerated Southern drawl. “My tale begins here—” and then the _real_ famous image appeared for the first time “—in Loíza, Puerto Rico, where I was born. Apparently, I was a really ugly baby, too ugly to be shown on this show, and very loud. In twenty-six years, only one of those two has changed, and I’m still pretty loud. Anyway, when I was five, my folks passed away, and somehow I ended up on a plane to South Carolina to be adopted by Henry Laurens and his wife Eleanor, and this is where that whole simple farmer boy thing comes in. Just look at this nice, simple farmhouse!” An image appeared of John’s childhood home—a giant mansion. “Now, I probably shouldn’t be saying this on national television, but to this day, I still have no idea why the old man took me in, and I think the day I moved out and went off to college was probably the best day of both of our lives. Oh, speaking of which, he’d throw a fit if he found out I was doing this show, so if anyone asks, I’m a lawyer.”

“Reminiscing again?” Maureen’s voice brought John back to the present.

“Yeah,” John admitted.

“Well, you’d better eat now, before your food gets cold,” Maureen reminded him.

“Thanks, Mom.” John grinned. Indeed, Maureen had always treated him like her own, ever since day one all those years ago. He adored her.

“Oh, stop it,” she muttered good-humoredly. John laughed aloud and began eating.

~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, he was getting his hair done—really, it was just pulling his long, wavy locks back into a ponytail and giving it a healthy dose of hairspray and gel so that he didn’t go all wispy—and no makeup whatsoever.

“Live in T-45 minutes,” Ryan announced. “John, your lines are loaded into the teleprompter, and yes, I edited out _that bit_ for you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John said casually, _too_ casually for Ryan’s liking. Ryan rolled his eyes and began speaking into a walkie-talkie, telling the ushers to start letting in the crowds.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Live in 5!” Ryan shouted. “Places, everyone!”

John, of course, was already in his place, ready to walk out on stage, as was everyone else. He could hear excited chattering in the audience, which he knew would be silenced soon by the dimming of the lights. He took a few deep breaths, thinking as usual about his speech, which he had nearly memorized despite its being on a teleprompter.

“Ready?” asked Louise, one of the crewmembers standing next to him.

“Always,” John said, grinning broadly. “Let’s do this.”

And then Joey, John’s announcer, began talking. “Ladies, gentlemen, and all who exist within, without, and beyond said labels, coming to you from Richard Rodgers Studio in New York City, this is _Live After Dark!”_

John always smiled at Joey’s announcement. It had been John’s idea to add the _within, without, and beyond_ part, and Joey had had no problem whatsoever going along with it—and, judging by the cheers from the audience, neither did they.

“And now, here is the host of _Live After Dark,_ Jooooohn Laurens!”

John grinned as he walked out on stage, waving to the audience. “Thank you, Joey. What time is it?” he called out to the crowd.

“SHOW TIME!” the audience shouted back—another one of the traditions John had started.

“That’s right! I’m John Laurens in the place to be, and you are watching _Live After Dark!_ Oh, it’s lovely to see you all. Now, before we begin, a little bit of housekeeping. Word has it that my adoptive father, Henry Laurens, is coming to town. Apparently, I’m about to turn thirty—” he shuddered “—and he sees it fit to visit for my birthday, so if anyone asks, I’m a lawyer.” This was nonsense, of course; Henry had found out soon after John’s first show, and was furious, but hey, there was nothing he could do. “Now that that’s over with, let us go to my personal favorite subject: politics. Specifically, the ridiculous antics going on at White House Elementary, where President George Washington honestly deserves commendation for the amount of effort he puts in trying to control his cabinet of squabbling five-year-olds. Let’s all give the man a hand!”

There was applause, as well as laughter, before John quieted the crowd again. “Well, anyway, as usual, Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson—Secretaries of the Treasury and State respectively—are arguing, and my sources tell me that the only one who can get them to stop is Attorney General Angelica Schuyler, and, before you ask, no, Angelica Schuyler is not yet running for president. Such a shame. What my sources haven’t told me, probably because of confidentiality or something like that, is what exactly the topics of Hamilton and Jefferson’s arguments are. Luckily for us, I don’t need sources, because I have something even better: Twitter. Folks, it is time for a Dramatic Twitter Reading!

The Dramatic Twitter Reading segment, one of John’s inventions, was a favorite among the fans and thus elicited a loud cheer from the audience as the logo—another example of Maureen’s best work—appeared on the screen.

“Joining me this evening for Dramatic Twitter Readings is the lovely and fantastic Irina Mendelson! Give her a hand, folks!” Irina walked onto the stage, waving.

“Hello, hello,” John said brightly. The two hugged. “Thank you so much for being here.”

“Thanks for having me!”

“Please, come join me,” said John. They walked over to the side of the stage, where John took a seat at Freddie’s infamous desk and Irina sat down on the sofa. “So, Irina, as you know, you are going to help me with some dramatic readings of real, actual Tweets posted by Mr. Alexander Hamilton and Mr. Thomas Jefferson. As the guest, you may choose whom you are going to portray.”

Irina clasped her hands, considering the question. “Hmm… I’m going to go with Alexander Hamilton. This’ll be fun.”

“And that means that I’ll be portraying Thomas Jefferson,” said John. He passed Irina an envelope which had **ALEXANDER HAMILTON’S TWEETS** in big black letters. “I’m quite happy about that, by the way—I always love an opportunity to do a terrible fake Southern accent. However, in case my fake Southern accent is so terrible that you can’t understand it, we will be displaying the tweets we read on the screen behind me. Also, for the purposes of this Dramatic Reading, the crying-while-laughing emoji is just going to be pronounced as _looolllll._ So, without further ado, let us begin. Irina, you’re first.”

Irina picked up the first card and nearly died laughing. “Okay. Okay. I can do this. Ahem.”

John nearly choked, even though he had already seen the tweets that morning. “Damn, Alexander, we’re not going easy on the guy, are we? Okay, let’s see, and Thomas’s response is…”

There was a collective “Oooooooooh” from the crowd. “Ooooooh is right,” John said, breaking his accent. “Alright, Irina, you’re up.”

"I mean, he has a point," said Irina once she finished reading. "Not exactly professional."

"No, not at all," John replied. "Let's see, and Jefferson says..."

“Ah, the infamous _it’s a free country_ argument,” John sighed somewhat dramatically once he finished reading. “Fun fact: that’s literally not how anything works.” The audience laughed. "Well, it's true. That's not how anything works. Sorry. Irina, go ahead."

“Niiiiiice,” Irina said when she finished. “Oh—but wait; there’s more.”

“Click-BOOM,” Irina finished. “That—that wasn’t part of the tweet. That was me... not that I necessarily want to admit to saying 'click-boom' on live, national television."

“Spoiler alert: this is where it gets good,” said John, loud enough and quickly enough that the audience stopped laughing at Irina's expense. “Thomas says—”

“And then he writes…”

“I can’t get over the way you say _loolll,_ ” Irina laughed. “The accent makes it. Okay. Here we go.”

“My hero,” John sighed, putting a hand over his heart. “For those of you who don’t know, my amazing adopted mother Eleanor, may she rest in peace, was Jewish, and therefore so am I, much to my adopted father’s chagrin. Anyway. Irina, I believe there’s more.”

“Yes, there is,” said Irina.

“Well played, Mr. Secretary,” said Irina. “But wait—there’s more.”

The crowd started laughing, but Irina put up a hand to stop them.

“But wait… _there’s more._ ”

“And scene,” Irina said with finality. “Hate to intrude on your show, John, but I think we ought to give this guy a hand for some serious shade.”

John laughed, but then he had an idea, one which wasn’t in the script at all but hell, if Ryan was going to force him to cut _George Dadington,_ he was going to go for it.

He leaned over and whispered something in Irina’s ear. “Think you can do that?” he asked. Irina nodded and the two stepped up to the stage in front of the desk. “Folks, we have an extra special treat for you this evening: an impromptu parody, dedicated to Mr. Secretary Alexander Hamilton. Mr. Secretary, I hope you’re watching this, because otherwise, Irina Mendelson and I are going to embarrass ourselves on national television, and that would royally suck. Ready, Irina?”

“Ready.”

What happened next would henceforth be remembered as one of the best moments in _Live After Dark_ history: Irina and John broke into song, harmonizing perfectly, singing what started out sounding eerily like “The Star-Spangled Banner” but wasn’t that at all.

“Oh say does Alex Hamilton’s Twitter feed wave… o’er the land of the free—” (Irina hitting the high note perfectly and even jumping up extra to harmonize and show off) “—and the home… of the… _shade…_ ”

The crowd erupted in applause and laughter. “Thank you—thank you, Irina; that was lovely. We’ll be back soon with more _Live After Dark!_ ”

~~~~~~~~~

Irina left during the commercial break, and soon John was back at his desk. “Welcome back! First of all, another huge round of applause for Irina Mendelson, who had to run during the commercial break, but let's give her a hand regardless!” The crowd cheered again. “Now, I’d really like to return to the tweets for a moment. First of all, if you look at the timestamps on the tweets, you’ll notice that that entire exchange occurred over a span of ten minutes, which means that not only do we have to applaud these two for their thinking and typing skills—especially Hamilton’s; his final four tweets seemed to happen in literally under two minutes—but we also have to give some serious kudos to the White House wifi network.”

That got a laugh.

“But what I really want to talk about is that last tweet from Secretary Hamilton, about replacing Secretary Jefferson with a dog. Honestly, Mr. Hamilton, I think you have the right idea here. But the real question is, if President Washington were to replace Secretary Jefferson with a dog, which dog should he choose? Well, this is a democracy, so I think America should choose. Over the course of this week, we are going to be choosing, as a country, the dog we want to see as Secretary of State, and once we have that puppy, we will write up a petition to President Washington asking him to consider this canine as a candidate. But before we do that, we’re going to need some nominations. That’s why, from tonight to tomorrow, I need all of you to send us pictures of your dogs. There is a handy-dandy Submit Dog Photos form right on our website, which you can access from your computer or from your mobile device, and I beg of you, send us those photos! The deadline for submissions is 11:59 PM Thursday night, and after that, we at the studio will randomly select five dogs to announce as candidates, so we can vote on them live on Friday!"

Explosive cheers broke out among the audience, and John could see from the stage that half of them at least were digging through their phones.

"Hold on!" he shouted, waving his hands to get their attention. "I know it's exciting, but before you dig through your phone for photos, get ready for the final Meme Monday of the month. As you know, the meme of this month was ‘John Adams Continually Fails To Look Normal In Any Photograph™,’ which we have celebrated every Monday this month with a photo montage taken straight from Vice President John Adams’s social media, and each Monday, you viewers have voted for your favorite photo via text. Well, tonight is the final vote, so here we have the finalists of the Meme Monday John Adams Montage…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Lia here! That was the first installment of Live After Dark—hope y'alls like it! The next chapter is in fact in the works as I was originally planning on making this be one giant oneshot, but I was so excited to post it that I figured I would do it as multiple chapters!  
> Of course, I have to give HUGE thanks to Ravenesta and asphodelgrimoire (vicesandvipers and transaaronburr on Tumblr respectively) for the HCs on which this fic is based. This was such a cool idea that I just HAD to write it.  
> As always, love and ducks to the Lone Shippers, hugs to supporters, shoutouts to the Autism Power Squad, and cookies for all!  
> Love,  
> Lia xxx


End file.
